


Off His Back

by Shiggityshwa



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Development, F/M, Gen, Hurt and comfort, Vignette, Young POV, where did that shirt come from?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: A small vignette shared between TJ and Colonel Young. Set between "Sabotage" and "Pain".
Relationships: Tamara "TJ" Johansen/Everett Young
Kudos: 4





	Off His Back

Stepping into the infirmary, he stands silent for just a moment, watching her diligently work with her back to him. She’s sorting through medical supplies, taking inventory, a task he should have delegated to her but has since become preoccupied by too many things.

Torn in too many directions.

Since finding out, he hasn’t gone back to Earth for anything other than business. Hasn’t seen Emily since he blew up at Telford for sleeping with his wife, when really he wasn’t any better.

He’s never minded being in charge, never felt panicked at being the one to make the tough decisions, but he’s never been in a situation like this before. He’s always had his home to retreat to, to escape the pressures of his job. Likewise, when things were rocky with Emily, he was able to bury himself in work, knowing that even if he wasn’t making a difference at home, he was making a difference for his country.

Once, when he could find comfort in neither, he fled to the arms of a subordinate, and between the sheets of her bed. The guilt was immediate and in a bout of anger induced by needing to shed the culpability, he blamed her enough to make her want to transfer out.

She never got to, some how remaining chained to him as he dragged her, and their inappropriate connection, through to new universes. 

It only happened once, but once was enough.

She sighs before him, still unaware of his presence and he feels voyeuristic, watching her without her knowledge when he actively avoided her for the two weeks after their encounter, addressing her only as lieutenant, talking with her only about military matters, being strictly professional with her to make up for the lapse and in doing so, denying her any peace.

On _Destiny_ , the line between military run state and coup is always thin, the line between professional and personal, between what benefits the whole and what benefits one.

He’s been selfish, career over marriage, an affair over both.

Blaming his wife for sending him away, for making him want to take another tour because he’ll never get as much admiration from her as he does from his coworkers.

Blaming his job for keeping him from his marriage, forcing him to spend spare time in counseling instead of starting to plan for the future.

Blaming her for his affair, for his uncouth thoughts about her, for going to her house after a few drinks, and falling into arms that were finally welcoming to him.

She cried and asked him what they were going to do.

Knows they both had the same initial thought about the pregnancy, about how dangerous the ship is, how one misplaced firearm could be life altering, how they’re already running out of provisions and getting water almost killed them last time.

About how _Destiny_ isn’t a place to raise any child, but that somehow fits into their story of origin.

He doesn’t have much to offer her—he’s not the man he would want any child to have as a father—but maybe this is the catalyst that makes him into that man. The one he’s not ashamed to be. The one who doesn’t fall back on flimsy pretenses of excuses in order to avoid responsibility.

Reached for her hand and was surprised when she allowed him to—just as surprised when she was the one who brought him back from the brink of death, after everything he’d done, if she harbored ill-feelings, she was more professional in hiding hers.

Promised her they would make it work.

He didn’t know if they would eventually make it back to Earth, or if they would live out their lives on _Destiny_ —just another unknown to factor in.

But no matter the situation, the setting, they would make it work.

She sighs again, her hand coming to rest on her back, knuckles pressing in to release pooling pain from being on her feet all day, from still giving what she can despite the situation.

Despite it not being beneficial for her.

When her head starts to droop, knowing the emotions are getting the better of her because she’s stopped being busy and had a chance to ruminate on the situation they created—he created—the life—he clears his throat.

“TJ?”

She startles, her shoulders becoming tense, before she turns, throwing on a small fake smile to deter him from the sorrow clouding her eyes.

The responsibility.

“Colonel—” she holds onto that smile like a life preserver, her hand briefly falling to rest on her stomach, pressing against the material of her uniform, before faltering, like the action is taboo. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

She trembled when he held her, the first time intimately touching since they had sex, how she needed reassurance, and from somewhere in the pit of him, he was able to retrieve what little he had to give.

“It’s all right, you’re busy.”

He’s always the busy one and now it seems like time is standing still.

All they have is time.

“I was just going through the inventory.” She curtails her sentence, a sign of subordination, doesn’t waste his time with small details that don’t concern him. Doesn’t usurp the conversation to something that’s not important in that moment. Instead, bowing out, allowing him his explanation.

“I—uh—” clears his throat again, still unsure how she can even bare talking to him when she became the vehicle he shifted the blame to.

But he points at her stomach, at their child, straining against her military issued shirt. “I noticed you’re outgrowing your uniform.”

Glancing down, she takes his gesture towards her as an allowance to touch her own stomach, to communicate with the child she nourishes. When she grabs his gaze again, her grin is more genuine. “Yes, I’m sorry—I haven’t been able to—”

Holding out the folded shirt from his side, he offers it to her—a white dress shirt he’d packed in case he needed to be in civilian wear for anything on Icarus. It somehow got mixed into one of his bags that he brought onboard the ship. Thought it was karma, that he should be dressing down, fitting in more with the civilians, trying to keep them from rioting, but he realized that these people don’t need friendship as much as they need instruction.

Wants to tell her that she can use it, so he can offer her what little comfortability he can, but that’s too personal. “I brought this, and I don’t really have a use for it—”

Knows the words hurt her because they hurt him.

Because the genuineness creeps out of her grin.

But she accepts the shirt, unfolding it and holding it up by the shoulders. “Thank you, Sir.”

The titles, the professionalism still kills him a bit, fearing that his own child will address him in proper military fashion.

Reaching across, he clasps one of her hands, ashamed of the confusion on her face.

“I know—” he pauses trying to regroup himself, to ignore the want to flee because it’s so much easier, but it’s not just her he’d be disappointing anymore. “I know it’s not a lot—”

Before he becomes too emotional she saves him, as she always does.

“It’s enough.”

The sincerity to her smile returns and she allows him to see the glassiness in her eyes, the vulnerability there.

He was never a good man. Let situations get the best of him, blaming his wrongdoings on circumstances seemingly out of his control.

But now he would give the shirt off his back to make it right.


End file.
